


Glamour Prism (Clothcraft)

by Hellsnextboss



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Regrets, The Vault Spoilers (Final Fantasy XIV), a lot of thinking, and not quite nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 01:37:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12266265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellsnextboss/pseuds/Hellsnextboss
Summary: At what temperature can alcohol freeze? This you wonder, as you pour it into the snow as an offering.





	Glamour Prism (Clothcraft)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skysedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysedge/gifts).



> Basically I wrote a couple of drabbles while on the balcony on holiday. This is one of 'em.

At what temperature can alcohol freeze? This you wonder, as you pour it into the snow as an offering. Can it freeze at all, if not here, in Coerthas? The calamity was not kind to this region, but despite the biting chill and the blanketed white landscape, you sit yourself down as though you don't notice. The cold doesn't bother you here, these days. When you first stepped foot into Camp Dragonhead, it had seemed unbearable. Today, you had deeply contemplated making this visit whilst wearing your cascadiers uniform, before having reasoned that your luck, or lack thereof, meant you would have probably ended up fighting off a dragon half naked. Though, he probably would have enjoyed that, you realise belatedly. Not even probably; _definitely_.

There are a lot of things that you realise too late. The first is that, really, using glamour prisms probably doesn’t quite count. The second is that this is the first drink you have shared with him, and wonder now if he would have liked wine at all. It’s impossible to say, now, but somehow, being remembered by a strapping young adventurer, who happens to look half naked, pouring a bottle of Realm Reborn Red over his grave seems like exactly the way he’d want to be remembered. Really, it does.

He had mentioned the cascadiers uniform to you before, in life, and now, in hindsight, it’s easy to wonder if it was a hint. Knowing him, it probably was. What might his reaction have been, if he had seen you in it? His expression? He’d have been thrilled, no doubt. He was glad enough just to see you turn up in full armour. And what if he knew the sheer number of dances you knew? Or the outfits you own that nobody else even knows about?

It’s easier, now, to think of these things, in a time of relative peace. Things are calmer, for now. And when the chaos slows and calm falls, the regret sets in. As it does, you sit down and slowly fall back to lie in the snow, above the body of a fallen comrade, a dear, dear friend.

He’d probably have liked this too. Being underneath you. Just not _quite_ in this way.

Someone, somewhere, would find symbolism in this, you’re sure. You, lying over the grave of the man who gave his life to save yours. Would the blow have killed you, you wonder? It’s hard to say. But it certainly killed him. In times of peace, the 'what if's' come to mind, too. They're probably the worst.

Despite this, even now, you don’t have the heart to do anything but smile when you visit this place. It would feel wrong to do otherwise.

Footsteps, the sound of snow crunching underfoot reaches your ears. Usually, the local threats don't wander quite this far. Whatever is coming is approaching you fast, and you don’t quite have enough time to stir before it reaches you. Visions of your corpse being found looking as though it’s scantily clad fill your mind as you open your eyes, and instead of a heretic or beast, you find Francel looking down upon you, eyes wide with panic. His hands reach out for your shoulders to shake you, though confusion replaces panic as he lays them upon you, meeting with the feel of cloth instead of skin.

An awkward moment of silent realisation passes as you sit yourself up, and he puts two and two together. Not many people stray up this way, either. But alongside yourself, Francel is a frequent visitor. He sighs with relief, and you feel underdressed despite being completely dressed beneath the facade.  

“Praise Halone, I thought you had frozen to death!” he exclaims, and really, thinking about it, you can’t really blame him. Maybe this glamour in his honour wasn’t such a good idea after all. Though, he’d probably find all of this hilarious. Especially when you pick up the second bottle of wine you brought with you and extend it to Francel in offering.

Really, he’d probably like this too; you and Francel sharing a drink over his grave. It’s simply a pity he’s not able to see it at all.


End file.
